


This World That We're Tied to Wasn't Made to Fight You

by unus_annus_eilish



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Cliffhangers, Cutting, Ethan comforts Mark, Ethan has anxiety, Ethan likes to spoon, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It gets better I promise, M/M, Mark has anxiety, Mark is really stressed, Mark just wants a cuddle, Sad, Self-Harm, it gets pretty fluffy, nobody dies though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23935237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unus_annus_eilish/pseuds/unus_annus_eilish
Summary: Mark tells him the comment section doesn't know him. That the people there are only trying to tear him down. But advice isn't enough when there's a never ending stream of people who are telling you that you don't deserve your success.Or your boyfriend.Or life.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 24
Kudos: 236





	1. Fly away with me

**Author's Note:**

> This is sad!  
> Tw: cutting, blood  
> Listen to 'Leaving London' by Steffan Argus for the feel of the story.

It wasn’t the first comment that made Ethan upset. It wasn’t the second, or third, it wasn’t any one comment that made him cry, it was all of them together. On every video he made, every video Mark made, and every Unus Annus video, comment after comment telling him that he doesn’t deserve Mark, that he’s just some pathetic fan that never deserved to meet Mark in the first place.

The worst comments were the ones that contradicted everything that he had been taught not to believe, the ones that told him that nobody would ever love him, that nobody would care if he died, the ones that people only watched his content to see Mark. Every comment like that individually didn’t hurt that much, but eventually it seemed that more people hated him than liked him.

One concept that people in the comments loved to throw around was the idea that Mark was Ethan’s sugar daddy and didn’t actually love him, just used him for views and content and paid for all of his stuff because Ethan isn’t successful on his own.

It got bad at some points, making him question whether or not Mark actually loved him, if he was even worth all the trouble Mark went through to bring him out to LA, pay for his improv lessons, and essentially become his sugar daddy, just like the comments were saying.

Mark had always told him that the biggest rule of YouTube was to never take the comments seriously because they never knew what they were talking about. Deep down, Ethan knew that Mark was right, he had been doing this longer than Ethan had and knew that the comments were almost never positive.

And yet here he was, crying on his bathroom floor over the comments on his YouTube videos, and if there was a point in his career that felt worse than this moment, he couldn’t think of it. He had never felt quite so hopeless at any point in his life that he could remember. Even back in 2015, when his acne was super bad and he was in a super bad place mentally, he was able to push the thoughts away and, somehow, came out of it, skin glowing and unscathed.

But now, his head laid against the wall, feet pressed against the base of the cabinets, he sat, sobbing to himself in his and Mark’s shared bathroom. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, too far to acknowledge, but still there, that Mark loved him and always would, but in that moment it was hidden behind his veil of sadness.

He promised Mark that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind since they had started dating (a lie). He had told Mark that if anything was ever wrong, he would tell him and they would talk it out. (another lie) See, he didn’t want to lie to Mark, but whenever he had felt this way in the past, he ended up making the people around him uncomfortable and ended up never talking to them again, not something he wanted to happen with Mark.

But Mark isn’t home.

And Ethan’s sad.

It’s not his fault.

Ethan stood up and grabbed his razor off of the bathroom counter. Knowing this was his only option and there were no other sharp objects, besides knives, in their house, he took his chances. He grabbed the pen from his pocket and began to pry the razor apart. He always got the cheap ones, claiming that it was because he got a closer shave with them, but really it was because they were the easiest to pry apart and get the blades out. He wasn’t proud of it, but at the moment, he wasn’t proud of anything.

The blade clinked against the Marble countertops surrounding Mark’s sink. For a moment, Ethan realized what he was doing, how it might affect Mark, how disappointed he would be, but the weight of his sadness quickly dragged him back down into the depths of his despair. He continued to cry as he tried to pick the razor blade up off of the counter.

Finally feeling the cool metal between his fingers, his breathing softened. He looked his pale forearms up and down, seeing both the old scars from years ago and the ones from a few months ago, right before Mark asked him out. 

He had promised.

Mark made him swear that he would try his very, very best to get clean, and if he ever wanted to cut again, to go find Mark and they’d talk it out, but now, when he needs him most, Mark isn’t here.

And neither of them can be blamed.

Setting the razor on his left forearm, he pressed lightly and traced the scars, drawing a thin, straight line of blood. He gently closed his eyes, tears slowly burning his eyes and falling down his cheeks, streaking down his neck and finally hitting his shirt collar.

He did it again, one scar further up his arm than the last cut, pressing slightly deeper, a more jagged, thick collection of blood appeared from the cut, rolling down the side of his arm, sliding down to the sharp point of his elbow before dripping down onto the floor silently.

Pathetic.

Again and again he repeated the process, slicing the skin and watching the blood as it dripped down onto the bathroom floor and he cried. He knew now, it became clearer and clearer as he cut deeper and deeper, Mark was going to find out.

And he’s going to be mad.

Mad at Ethan for being so pathetic. Mad at Ethan for lying to him. Mad at himself for leaving him alone. Mad at the internet for making his boyfriend feel like this. Mad at the universe for letting any of this happen.

And so Ethan cut deeper.

Logically, the solution would be to put bandages on the cuts, clean up the blood, and throw the razor away, before calling Mark and telling him that he needed help. But in his foggy state of mind, Ethan decided that logically, he'd just have to cut deep enough to scratch the itch inside his brain, and then he’d never have to cut again.

Unsatisfied with the result and running out of room on his left arm, he switched the blade, carefully despite his intentions, and began to cut the right arm.

Over and over. No longer caring about whether or not the lines stayed horizontal, he scratched hopelessly. It itched more as he cut deeper, unable to satisfy his mind’s need to stop existing.

He thought, logically, that if something were to happen it would probably be best to have a note for Mark, but his arms are both dripping blood, all over his legs, feet, and the cold gray tile of the master bathroom. Nothing would happen though, it never could, he was careful. He didn’t get caught and nobody ever noticed, he would never put anybody through the pain of finding him covered in blood, dead on the bathroom floor.

And so he cut deeper, eventually growing tired of cutting his right arm, and his inexperienced left hand was cramping up and making it hard to continue to press into the skin with enough pressure to draw blood.

So he moved to his thighs. He had only cut his thighs once before, when it was in the middle of summer and he couldn’t deny his need to cut. Not wanting to get caught, he cut his thighs, finding it to be more painful, yet there was more room for more damage.

He cuts words into his thighs, songs he and Mark listened to the day before floating in and out of his brain. ‘Fly away with me’ was etched deep into the top of his right thigh, blood dripping from the cuts and rolling off both sides of his leg.

He was still crying, his vision was blurry and preventing him from seeing out of his peripheral. But at the moment he was laser focused and couldn’t care less about what he could or couldn’t see. It didn’t matter.

He started to cut everywhere he could reach, his ankles, arms, thighs, and stomach soon leaking blood all over the bathroom floor. Itch left unscratched but growing lightheaded and no longer caring what happened to him, Ethan put the blade down. He looked at his body, disgusted by the way the skin folded and disappointed in himself for giving up when he had been clean so long.

He was lightheaded from the blood loss and starting to feel nauseous at the sight, having been numb to it for so long and suddenly brought back to his senses.

Realizing and recognizing for the first time the weight of what he had just done to himself, Ethan began to cry again. He was so dehydrated at this point that he wasn’t even actually crying, but his nose was running and his eyes were burning. He felt so terrible and yet couldn’t do anything.

He fully stripped and got into the shower, not caring what the temperature the water was, just wanting to get the blood off of his body. His ankles itched, the skin folding over the cuts and making it uncomfortable to stand. He wanted to scratch at the lines with his loofa, but knew it would only make them hurt and bleed worse.

Satisfied with the cleanliness of his body, he stepped out. His cuts were no longer bleeding and the blood had been washed off. He wrapped in his favorite towel, a large fluffy brown one, and began to clean up the blood on the floor, cabinets, and counter.

After a few minutes, the blood was completely gone. Nobody would be able to tell what he had done but he knew that he had to tell Mark.

He texted him, knowing that his head was as clear as his mind was going to be for a while and if he didn’t do it now.

‘I’m sorry.’ was the first thing he sent.

‘I did something bad.’ was the second.

‘I get it if you’re mad.’

‘I didn’t mean to.’

“Great, now it sounds like I cheated,” he thought.

‘I didn’t cheat’

‘If that’s what you were thinking.’

‘It’s worse.’

‘We really need to talk when you get home.’

‘I’m a little light headed, i'm gonna lay down now’

Ethan put his phone down on his nightstand. It was on silent, per usual, and he was too woozy to think to change it. Mark, who had been worried about Ethan for the past couple weeks but didn’t want to invade Ethan’s privacy, was not taking the texts very well.

‘Ethan?’

‘Baby what’s wrong?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘What happened?’

‘I won’t be mad just tell me what happened.’

‘I’m on my way home’

Mark was checking out when he had gotten the first text and was now rushing home, going as fast as he legally could to get home and see what was wrong.

There were a lot of things going through his mind. His thoughts were racing 1,000 miles an hour, he literally thought of everything that could have possibly happened. Did he burn down the house? Did he let one of the dogs run away? What could he have done that would make Mark angry? He obviously hasn’t been in the best headspace for a while.

Suddenly, it clicked.

Ethan hurt himself.


	2. We'll be Soaring Through the Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things that need to be discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy the angst :)  
> (also, I do use the same bratty phrase in every fic i write, i'm sorry.)  
> (See If you can figure out which one it is)  
> (It won't be hard there's not much dialogue in this chapter.)  
> (sorry)

Rushing home to make sure Ethan was okay, Mark was panicked. He was trying to convince himself that he was overthinking, that Ethan wouldn’t actually cut himself anymore, but he knew. He was hoping with all of his heart that his boyfriend was okay, but was struggling to not think of the worst.

He knew that Ethan had cut in the past. While not public knowledge, the scars were visible and all of their friends, as well as a few fans, had noted and acknowledged the cuts. When he promised not to do it anymore, Mark wished he could believe him, but he didn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him, because for a while he had felt bad about not feeling secure in the promise, he just cared so much.

He had never known anybody who cut and didn’t know if he handled the situation properly, He always felt like he was too forward and almost threatening when trying to console him. Mark was never good at feelings, and, despite his best efforts, there were almost always things he did that made him seem insensitive. He didn’t mean to be, it was just his nature.

The drive seemed excruciatingly long. Granted, the unpleasantness of the situation that sat before him, was not a thought that could just pass. It was a constant battle against the tears in Mark’s eyes. They pushed the edge of his eyelids, threatening to spill over the edge, slashing his vision into a thousand pieces.

He seemed to hit every red light possible. There wasn’t much traffic, unusual for LA, but there were still people out and about. It stressed him out to no end, knowing that his boyfriend was in a fragile state alone.

There were a lot of uncertainties in the situation, but the biggest one at the moment was how long it would be until Mark would be home. He thought to call 911, but didn’t want to risk panicking Ethan and losing his trust. Besides, he had experience in this and had the thought to text Mark, he had to be at least safe enough to not need emergency services.

Estimating the time it would take to get home, deciding it would be about 3 minutes until he made it into the neighborhood and another 2 until he got to the house and in the garage.

It was a haunting nearly 5 minutes, the music station seemingly taunting him. It was not something that he was prepared to deal with. Dealing with his own anxiety, which was spiking in the current pressure, every little thing was pushing Mark closer to the edge,

And it scared him.

He had tendencies to get very angry when stressed, and right now, he could feel the frustration pulsing through his veins. He didn’t want to blow up on Ethan, especially not right now, but he knew that the first thing he would be able to interact with would be his emotionally unstable boyfriend. 

It frustrated him that he was so frustrated, a vicious cycle he had spent years trying to find a way out of, to no avail. It was something he was no stranger to, having ended relationships badly in the past due to his behaviors that he couldn’t seem to control. He worried constantly that something out of his power would be the thing that screwed him out of the perfect relationship he had now.

He was almost back to the house, trying his very best to calm the nerves and anger inside of him. His inclination to hit something was overridden by the intensity of his worry, the need to support Ethan the driving force behind his breaths.

He pulled into the driveway, immediately unbuckling the seatbelt and throwing open the door. He jumped out, slamming the door shut as he ran up to the front door. His keys were already in his hand and instincts took over, leaving him on autopilot. He unlocked the door, opened, and shut it faster than he ever thought possible.

He bounded up the stairs, ignoring the fact that his shoes were on, skipping every other step. He practically flew through the hallway, to the bedroom.

But he opened the door gently, not sure if Ethan was actually asleep, but not wanting to scare him if he wasn’t. Patience, he had learned, was key in these situations. He needed to calm down and listen to anything and everything Ethan had to say,

The door creaked softly, not loud enough to generally wake anyone. Ethan was asleep on the bed.

Much to Mark’s relief, he was very visibly breathing. The blankets that covered his small body were rising and falling slowly and deeply, indicating that Ethan was in a deep sleep.

Deciding not to immediately wake him up, Mark went to look for any blood or blades in the bathroom. It wasn’t a pleasant walk across the room, killing him slowly as he approached the door. He fully expected to see everything covered in blood.

But that’s not what he found. Instead, the bathroom was completely clean. It was almost scary how well Ethan had thought the aftermath through. The lack of blood was worrying, and Mark wondered if Ethan could have hidden this from him. He’d like to think that he couldn’t, that the signs would have been so blatantly obvious that he would have known. But looking at the room surrounding him, Mark knew he could have hidden it.

Heart aching but glad that Ethan was okay, Mark went back into the bedroom. He took note of the fact that Ethan’s phone was upside-down on the bedside table, indicating that he didn’t respond to Mark because he didn’t see the notifications. Another observation that both scared and relieved Mark.

Pulling back the covers on his side of the bed, Mark climbed in. He knew that Ethan was fast asleep, and being the heavy sleeper he was, knew that climbing into bed wouldn’t wake him up. 

It was a frequent occurrence, Mark sliding into bed when Ethan was already fast asleep. He was realizing now just how much time he spent prioritizing work above Ethan. He knew that the videos he was working on could wait, but when he was in the mood, he just couldn’t stop. He pondered over the lost time that they could’ve spent together and nearly started crying again, a feeling of dread pulling him deep into his thoughts. Ethan could be ripped from him at any moment, and although the inevitability of death was something that they preached, it scared the crap out of Mark. Especially now, laying a few inches away from Ethan, who had more or less just tried to kill himself.

Mark scooted closer to his boyfriend, still asleep on his side, curled up in the blankets. It was adorable and Mark couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was so heartbroken in that moment but knew that he was feeling nothing compared to what Ethan felt. He couldn’t imagine the intense pain and suffering that Ethan must have been going through mentally.

He always felt like he showed Ethan that he loved him and cared about him a lot, but he just never seemed enough. Why wasn’t he good enough to stop Ethan from hurting himself? Why did he not see the signs? What did he do wrong that made Ethan feel like he didn’t care. It hurt to feel like he wasn’t good enough. He just wanted to know why.

Ethan was still sleeping peacefully but Mark was now crying. His anxiety, despite seeing Ethan breathing right in front of him, had spiked. He was not handling the pressure well, and now the darkness that shrouded the room had climbed it’s way into Mark’s mind.

‘Maybe he doesn’t love me anymore,’ Mark thought, ‘Maybe he never did.’ Mark shook his head at the thoughts, Ethan had been pining for years. ‘Maybe he thought I didn’t love him anymore.’ The state of mind he was in was not common for Mark, he was very rarely anything below a cocky, confident manly man, but at the moment, he was feeling incredibly low.

He felt stupid, Ethan had just cut himself god knows where and yet Mark was the one who was crying. He was supposed to be the one comforting Ethan but he wasn’t, he was too busy trying to stop himself from going into a full on meltdown. 

He was quiet, the tears rolling down his cheeks, the only sounds in the room their breathing and the occasional sniffle from Mark. He didn’t want to disturb Ethan, knowing that he was probably still emotionally unstable and in need of some sleep. Mark wished that he could sleep, but his mental state was not good enough to allow it.

He scooted ever closer, essentially cuddling Ethan at this point. His head was resting on his back and he could hear Ethan’s heart beat through the blankets. It calmed his nerves slowly until he eventually drifted off to sleep

***

An hour later, Ethan woke up. There was a strange pressure on his back, a heat pressing against his body that he couldn’t quite place in his sleepy state. He turned his head to the right as far as the blankets and his body would let him, seeing nothing but a small tuft of black hair. He knew instantly that it was Mark, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Mark was never a big fan of spooning. He always complained that he would get too hot as the little spoon (He wasn’t too hot, he was just a top and got insecure about his dominance, but Ethan would never know) and said that being the big spoon was only slightly better. But it seemed that for once, Mark had backed down on his opinion in favor of cuddling Ethan.

And that made him happy. He was always a big fan of spooning, but since Mark didn’t like it, they found other ways to snuggle. Mark’s arm would often drape over Ethan’s shoulders while Ethan lay his head in Mark’s lap or on his chest. It was comfortable, practical, and unique, but it wasn’t spooning. Every once in a while, with a lot of persuading from Ethan, they would spoon, Mark always the big spoon, but it had only happened a handful of times.

Ethan wanted to see Mark’s face. To know that he was loved, cherished, cared for, and not a nuisance as he often felt he was. He knew that Mark loved him, but he wanted to see the peaceful look on his face while he slept, mind void of all worry. Ethan shifted slightly, turning slowly until Mark’s head was curled into their chests and Ethan could see Mark’s face.

The peace he expected to see was replaced by a worried look and trails of tears on his cheeks. He knew what Mark looked like while crying, everybody did, but he had never really seen what he looked like after he stopped. Unsurprisingly, he looked gorgeous in Ethan’s eyes, something that never failed to amaze him. Even when he had seen Mark in the most random, disgusting, compromising positions, he still found him to be stupidly attractive all the time. It was both a blessing and a curse. He loved how confident Mark was, but it made Ethan all the more insecure. Why couldn’t he love himself like Mark did?

Mark frequently called Ethan beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, handsome, and yet if felt insincere, disingenuous, and fake. It raised his confidence slightly, only to have it smashed back down everytime another person commented something mean on a video. He wished he could be as confident as Mark.

He often admired Mark’s hair, finding the softness of it to be the most appealing part. He loved how fluffy it was when he had bed head, how ridiculous it looked when he turned into an ‘e-boy’, and pretty it looked done up and pushed back. He was softly petting the top of Mark’s head, humming a song when Mark began to wake up. It was a flutter of his eyes first, then a stretch of the legs and arms, and finally a deep breath, yawn, and opening of his eyes.

Ethan kissed the top of Mark’s forehead, admiring how sleepy his boyfriend looked. Mark looked startled.

“Did you just,” Mark started, yawning again, “kiss my head?”

“Yeah, got a problem with it?”

“No,” Mark mumbled, annoyed but appreciating the act as best he could.

“Are you sure about that?” Ethan whispered into Mark’s ear, he was trying his best to sound sexy in a joking way, but his bottom energy was surging and made him collapse back onto the bed laughing.

Mark was relieved to see how Ethan was already feeling better, and also surprised at how fast he jumped back into his normal self. Was this normal?

“So,” Mark qued awkwardly. Ethan swallowed and sat up, no longer laughing. “About earlier…”

Ethan nodded, knowing that the conversation needed to happen, he had told Mark that something had happened, and it was likely that it had been figured out, judging by how uncomfortable he looked and the tear stains that Ethan had already seen.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ethan shrugged, clearly open to the idea but not thrilled.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Mark stated, trying to calm them both down from their near panicked states, “It’s up to you and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Ethan almost started crying with how sweet Mark was being. He had been sure that Mark would be angry, but he wasn’t. He was trying his best to be as supportive as he could, despite admitting to Ethan a while back that he wasn’t good at feelings or reading people well. But Ethan’s heart was warmed, everything Mark did was so thoughtful and made Ethan feel so special.

Ethan nodded again, “I'd like that.” Mark smiled, his eyes already filling with tears again. They were now sitting face to face in the middle of their bed, Ethan reached his hand across his lap and grabbed Mark’s. They made eye contact and both smiled sadly.

“Why?” was all that Mark could ask, his voice cracking as he said it. Ethan, seeing how visibly distraught Mark was, began to rub the back of his hand.

“It’s not your fault. It would never be your fault.” Ethan said, Mark looked up and they made eye contact again. “It’s just me, I couldn’t take the pressure and went back to an old coping method that I promised you I wouldn’t.” Ethan was getting a little choked up, but for once he felt that he needed to be the strong one in the relationship, he knew Mark was trying to be tough, but it wasn’t working. 

“I didn’t feel like anybody cared,” Ethan said, still looking at Mark even though his boyfriend had looked up at the ceiling. A single tear ran down Mark’s face, his eyes completely still. He looked stunned. Realizing how it sounded, Ethan squeezed Mark’s hand, “I know that you do, and I know that there are a lot of people who care, but in the moment I was just really upset.” Ethan explained, “There was nothing you could have done that would have made the outcome any different, it was bound to happen.” Mark was now steadily crying now and Ethan took note of it.

It hurt to see Mark cry, but it hurt worse because he knew that he was the reason Mark was crying. He knew in the moment that it would put stress on their relationship, that Mark wouldn’t take the news well, but it hurt now instead of then. He was feeling the repercussions for his previous actions.

And as much as it hurt, it was a beautiful thing. Mark cared more than anybody else who had ever found him after an episode, none of them had ever even tried to stick around. It made the overwhelming feeling of love in his heart just explode into a volcano of mush.

“I love you,” Ethan whispered to Mark, his eyes burning with tears while he smiled at the love of his life. It was so sappy, and yet in the moment it felt like uncharted territory. A groundbreaking moment of character growth, the end of the arc. 

But it wasn’t. Mark was still crying, Ethan was still depressed, and they hadn’t had their ‘happily ever after’ yet. Maybe they never would. It had never occured to Ethan that he might get to live well into his adult life. He had heard stories of people like Billie Eilish, who never thought she’d make it to 17. It never seems real until you’re living it. Ethan had never had an answer when he was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, not because he didn’t have passions, he did, he just didn’t realize that now, in his 20’s, he was living something that he thought would never happen.

Mark could sense that something was going on in Ethan’s head and looked at him quizzically. Ethan, understanding that Mark’s voice was probably still too shaky to ask what Ethan was thinking, started to talk.

“Just reflecting,” there was silence for a minute before Ethan continued, “You ever think about the future?”

Mark nodded, smiling as he squeezed Ethan’s hand. Ethan was so grateful for Mark’s attentiveness. It was so nice to have someone listen to him when he needed to rant. A moment passed before Ethan started to wonder aloud, “I wonder what it’ll be like.”

Mark nodded as they both leaned back into the pillows behind them. “I hope it’s with you.” Ethan stated.

Making eye contact again, Mark grinned, “I love you.” 

“I know,” Ethan smiled, scrunching up his nose in adoration. Things weren’t perfect, but they would be eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, comments and kudos are appreciated, I will respond to every comment, so ask anything you want. Requests are still open so if you'd like to request something, drop it down below or dm me on:  
> Tumblr- @the-inevitability-of-death  
> Instagram- @unus.annus.eilish
> 
> I'll also be posting updates about fics on my Tumblr, so follow if you want updates (and some pretty spicy unus annus memes)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! To the person who requested this, I'm sorry it's so dark! If you enjoyed this, comments and kudos are appreciated and I'm taking requests. You can drop them here or dm me @the-inevitability-of-death on Tumblr or @unus.annus.eilish on Instagram :)


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